


Twisted Dark

by Lotornomiko



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Angst, Dark fic, Depressing, Dubious Consent, F/M, It is a hook emma piece but there is a third wheel putting a wrench into things, Season Four B Finale Cannon Divergence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-02
Updated: 2016-09-02
Packaged: 2018-08-12 16:09:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 938
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7940797
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lotornomiko/pseuds/Lotornomiko
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is a SHORT dark drabble, and hard to summarize without spoiling it. Basically started right after the season four finale, though it took almost a year for me to actually complete it. Hmm..I guess the best way to sum it is the Dark One ruins everything it touches...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Twisted Dark

**Author's Note:**

> Just a few heads up....this drabbe like thing was first started a day or so after the season four finale first aired. But I never got to complete it...My mind kinda stalled. It's dark, depressing angst, and the Hook Darkness interaction probably at the very least veers into dubious consent. Proceed with caution, or save this for when you are in the mood for something that isn't happy.
> 
> Standard Disclaimer Time! I do not own Once Upon A Time, or it's characters. I do not make any money off of this story. This is done purely for entertainment purpses.
> 
> \-----Michelle

There's the gleam of gold on my lap, long, luxurious waves of it. That brilliant blonde hair is everywhere, spread across my thighs, trailing down her back. It's longer than it once was, the curled ends of it caressing the bottom of her naked ass. Just the thought of what that hair attempts to cover, makes me harden, the thick, twitching length of me stretching her mouth wider. It tears a mild complaint from her throat, but the soft suckling heat of those lips don't leave me. Instead they purse tighter, the fit and feel of her mouth around me a pleasure few will ever know. 

They'll know none of this, not the way she makes my breath rasp out on a guttered sigh, my body riding a tight rope of tension that is at odds with the lazy way I relax in my seat. Each pull of her lips have my toes curling in their boots, the long length of me enveloped down to the root. She holds me there, just humming, the vibrations making me writhe in place. Sweat beads on my body, the near violent need to thrust within me, and it's only her hands holding me down that keeps my hips from moving. 

Like a band of steel, there is a surprising strength in those small hands. They render my feeble struggles obsolete, her dominion over me as effortless as the breeze. There's only the wild tremble of my body, and the sharp dig of her nails leaving half moon imprints on my skin. I'm aware of hissing, of my hand fisting some of those golden waves. Her head jerks up in response, and it's not Emma's eyes that stare back at me, but the creature's, black and boiling over with rage and resentment. 

That look doesn't kill my desire. If anything it sets me on fire, my own rage and resentment growling out of my throat. My lips make a twisted mockery of a smile, my expression cold and cruel while that need burns through me. Those black eyes narrow in a familiar hate, and it's a warped reflection of my own heart that I see. 

Emma. 

Only it's not. Emma has long since ceased to exist, swallowed up by the monster that kneels before me. There's not a shred of her inside it, the creature wearing her skin but holding none of her love and warmth. It doesn't even try to pretend at it, doesn't even care enough to try. It lets all of it's evil shine, that cold hate, that murderous rage glinting in the black that makes up it's eyes. There's an unflinching resentment there, a heated promise of what it can and will do. It's my own death that I am gazing at, my own wreck and ruin made real. 

Caught in the wave of it, it's not fear, and it's not despair that I feel. I'm long past the point of caring, long past the wanting of anything but HER. My soul cries out, my heart lays heavy with that ache. There's a resentment inside me, an anger that has nothing to do with the monster, and everything to do with the woman I've lost. The woman I still loved, Emma having played savior and hero one last time that had proved final. I shake now with my own fury, with the effort to suppress the scream that wants to come out. Wanting to scream to the heavens, to the hells, to wherever she might actually be. 

I damn Emma and love her in one breath, hating what she has caused, what her heroic decision has led us to. The monster feeds off my hate, off the negative emotions inside me, even off the love and desire that has twisted. I'm drowning then, in a wave of pleasure after hated pleasure, the ecstasy pulled out of me by a mouth that's all sharp and uncaring teeth. It pulls me down, sucks a little more of my soul and love inside it, greedily devouring the pieces that are left of me. 

Rendered feeble in more ways than one, I lay back limply in my seat. Opportunistic monster that it is, it lunges towards me, all black eyes and wild gold hair, with my semen on it's lips. I just barely get the hook up in time, the curve of it fitting around that slim and narrow throat. Those painted lips pull back with it's snarls, it's fury whipping the air about the room. It rustles through my hair, tears at my clothing, but it made impotent by the hook. By the name inscribed on the newly melted metal, Emma scratched out in that archaic cursive. For more than a second I am tempted, wondering what will happen when my name replaces Emma's on that hook. Will it be to Heaven or to Hell that I go? Will it even matter so long as she might be there? 

Longing for Emma with every fiber of my being, my arm trembles with my indecision. Kill and be killed, or continue in this misery. I'm a coward either way, a masochist set on my own torture. Unable to live life without her, unable to end this and die, I shove the monster off me and back down to the floor. It screams again and again, even as I lay back in my seat, and cover my face with my hand. I'm shaking and it's both my laughter and my tears as the cause. Unspoken is the realization that the shell of her is better than having nothing of Emma at all..... 

\------------------------------------------------------------------------ 

Finished?

**Author's Note:**

> So...okay this dates back more than a year. I wrote the first few paragraphs right after the season four finale, when Emma pushed Regina out of the darkness, and got taken instead. I wrote this not knowing what they were gonna do in season five. 
> 
> I always wanted to be able to finish and post it...not sure I am completely happy with what I wrote. It's not meant to be a happy piece...I was working on a theory of the darkness eating up Emma's soul, destroying her, so that only it was in her body. That sort of thing. and yes, Hook melted down the dagger, and reforged it into his hook so he would always have some control over the dark one, some threat and possibly an out should he decided he wants to be destroyed so he can follow Emma's soul to wherever she has gone, and reunite with her there. But he's so scared that he won't be able to follow to where she's gone, or worse yet, to learn only total oblivion awaits. 
> 
> I tried my best here to finish this drabble, but I am not sure it's any good. =/ Don't hate me for it too much! 
> 
> Oh...I am titling it what my file name is, Twisted Dark. But if anyone has any better suggestions for a name for this drabble, feel free to offer them up! Thanks. 
> 
> \---Michelle


End file.
